Marik's Time In America
by Open Pandora's Jar
Summary: "Peel the scars from off my back. I don't need them anymore. You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars. I've come home."


The first time Marik slept in the pink bedroom was when his neighbor visited. Marik had humbly chosen to sleep in the bedroom all the way on the left. Well, the real reason he slept there was because it had the most windows and that's what he really wanted from America: light. However, he told himself it was out of his humble spirit.

Every night he did his homework on the barren desk, appropriately pausing to look at the empty furniture, before finishing the work and wandering. Sometimes, he would clean his rod before putting it on its blanket above the shrine in the closet. Usually, he would wander around the house.

It should have felt empty to him. It really should. It was a fairly big house: three bedrooms, four bathrooms, and assorted dining and living areas. A small family could have lived there: perhaps a husband, a wife, and their child. It was appropriate, what with its large backyard, its placement in the suburbs, and its proximity to two schools districts and a market.

However, a small family did not live there. Only Marik did. Marik with his long footsteps that echoed on the floorboards at night. Marik with his blasting television to feel companionship.

No, Marik did not feel lonely, but it was only because he felt like his family could live there. He could imagine his father living in the master bedroom, frowning at all the country décor. He could imagine his sister instantaneously picking the room with bright pink walls. She would probably lie and say she liked it because it was close to the bathroom. No, she would like it because it was pink, and, despite herself, she had her girly tendencies that only Marik knew.

Marik could even imagine sharing a room with his stepbrother. Maybe his stepbrother would have to live somewhere else, claim he was too old, but then make a lie to stay with him. Then maybe they'd watch a movie together, alone at night, and giggle at the all jokes. But then Marik wouldn't understand some jokes and his stepbrother would have to pause it to explain. Marik would blush, there would be a moment of awkwardness where Marik would fight off a question, but then they'd continue watching, with his sister and father quietly sleeping across the hall.

But that was only a distant dream, because in no universe would his family live with him. Marik had destroyed any chance of his family coming together and being a family. They were broken. He was to blame. He was completely aware of that. He was completely fine with that.

It was four forty two in the afternoon when Marik's next door neighbor calmly but loudly knocked on his door. Marik, who had been forcing himself to read _The Fountainhead_, had looked at his window with a sigh when he realized he would have to put up a façade he had not yet perfected. He had put his book down, not bothering to dog-ear the page- he knew he'd spark note it anyway- and walked to the door.

"Hello," He said with an annoyed smile as he opened the large wooden doors.

The woman staring back at him was short and stout. She wore a large sunhat that barely covered her dyed blonde hair. Her green dress, which bore some logo from some designer that Marik had never heard of, was a tad short for her age group. Her skin, which was probably once beautifully tanned, now had sunspots and the beginnings of liver spots. She smiled with artificially whitened teeth.

"I just wanted to greet my new neighbors," She spoke as if she was explaining her actions to a friend after the fact. "With a pie from the bakery. Has your mother been to the grocery store? There's a great bakery in it. Where are your parents? May I speak to one?"

Marik's hand was still resting on the golden door handle. He began to slowly close it, "No, they're out. Maybe you should come back later."

She peered around the door, forcing Marik to keep it open.

"I haven't seen a car in the driveway all week. Where are your parents?" She repeated persistently.

"Week? I've been here for four days!" He said.

"You know, you really shouldn't answer the door without parental supervision," she chastised. "It isn't safe for a boy your age to do so."

"I'm seventeen," he said, cocking his head with narrowed eyes.

"Still."

She composed herself. "I just wanted to greet you with some pie," She took a breath and smiled, "From the bakery."

He looked at her, annoyed.

"Can I come in?"

"You know," he said, closing the door. "It really isn't safe for a boy my age to let strangers in the house without parental supervision. Maybe you should come back later."

He shut the door with a loud bang. Marik imagined her staring at the door, aghast, and smiled.

An hour had passed before Marik regretted his decision. It took him one hour to realize that was the first real person he had spoken to in over a month. A real person who wanted to come in his house and talk to him. A person who actually wanted to hear small talk, even if it was only for gossip. Not some loud, obnoxious woman with long pink nails from the emigration center who loudly popped her bubblegum as she both complimented Marik on his 'great tan' and checked his papers. Not some cab driver that gave him shifty looks as he drove him from the airport to a center to pick up his bike. A real person.

Hours later, he looked at his clock. It was exactly seven thirty. The window of time to open the door had passed. He watched television, aimlessly, reclined on the couch. He had finished all his homework. He decided he would go on a walk.

He felt like a ghost wandering around the neighborhood. The neighborhood was oddly shaped. Most of it surrounded an unnatural yet complex lake, but the parts that weren't were somewhat isolated from the rest. Not for the first time, Marik found himself in an odd cul-de-sac without an entrance or an exit. He was almost comforted by the fact that, even in a neighborhood so perfect in a town so perfect in a city so perfect, there was an awkward cul-de-sac hidden from society. Marik almost regretted not living there. But if anyone, even Marik, were to live in this place, it would somehow deteriorate its essence. With one last longing glance, Marik left and continued his walk.


End file.
